


Coda: You Haven't Even Fucked Me Yet

by Spitshine



Series: The Nogistune Files [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Faux-Grumpy Derek, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Stiles Stilinski, power bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/pseuds/Spitshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles forgets about breathing, because this, well, stereotypically bad teen life choices suddenly make a lot of sense, is all he's saying. He could see himself doing a lot of dumb shit to get more of this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda: You Haven't Even Fucked Me Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_kneazle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_kneazle/gifts).



Derek frowns. “You haven't even fucked me yet.”

“You are not harrumphing right now,” Stiles yawns. “Seriously. Gonna start calling you Grumpy Cat 'stead of Sourwolf.” His words slur together as he buries his face in Derek's neck and wiggles even closer; a fine tremor shivers down his spine at the sensation, but he's too sleepy to really respond. “Nap now. Bone ya later.”

“Not if you keep calling it that, you won't,” Derek grouses, but Stiles is already out.

*

Stiles wakes disoriented, like he always does if he naps in the afternoon and wakes just as the sun is setting.

Disoriented and hard.

Disoriented, hard, and filthy dirty.

“Oof, knock it off, bae,” he mutters when Derek starts grinding hopefully against his hip. “I have accomplished the unthinkable in that I am simultaneously sticky and crusty. I don't think I even have the range of motion to fuck you until I get a shower in me. On me? And you're not licking me clean, either. I am _uncomfortable_ ,” he whines. Let it never be said that he's above using wolves' superhearing against them, because he really isn't.

“Fine,” Derek grunts, rolling away from Stiles and right into the mess they'd made of the sheets.

“Are you wallowing? Wow. We are going to have so much fun going through a kink list someday. For now, just... you know, I don't even care if you shower, I would just mess you right back up. But I'm not kidding about the range of motion thing, so if you'll excuse me...”

Stiles hurries through his shower—and damn, if this sex thing keeps up, his hygiene is going to improve _immensely_ , sex is messy as all hell—relying on the steaming water to loosen the grime before his scrapes it off with his fingernails. He scrubs himself red in his rush to return to Derek.

He obviously takes too long, because Derek is sprawled out on the bed when he returns, two fingers screwing wetly into his hole. “You—god _damn_ , you cannot just—you're going to give me a heart attack! Let me, let me-” He nudges Derek's wrist with his own and Derek whines, pulls back to grab his ass with both hands, spreading himself wide for Stiles.

Stiles swallows hard as his fingers push into Derek. He's never felt this close to another human body. Derek is clenching-hot around even just the first knuckle and Stiles forgets about breathing, because this, well, stereotypically bad teen life choices suddenly make a lot of sense, is all he's saying. He could see himself doing a lot of dumb shit to get more of this, more of Derek-

-but he doesn't have to, Derek is right here, spine winding tight as he presses his hips into Stiles' hand with a string of broken, high-pitched gasps. “Please, please, I need it.” Stiles watches open-mouthed as Derek's spine undulates, an indolent shiver of pleasure, and Derek's body takes him in, impossibly tighter as he goes deeper. He doesn't know how Derek can possibly make space for Stiles' cock in all that wet wet heat, but he knows how it feels, to do it himself, and he presses another finger in, curves them in and up and rubs his thumb in broad strokes across the taut skin behind Derek's balls. His awareness of the larger packbond flickers away as his attention narrows down on Derek, sight and scent and sound and touch, holy god, and this inexplicable new tug behind his sternum.

He pushes himself up on his elbow to get a better sightline on Derek, his body sweaty and spunky as he grinds desperately against Stiles' fingers. “The angle is much better this way. Fingering someone else, I mean. I bet I could do you way longer than I can do myself.”

Derek moans at that, long and mournful. “But... your cock.”

“You'll get it. But you don't know, I can't tell you how good you feel on me, on my fingers, not done doing this yet.”

Derek glares. “Feel _better_ on your _cock_.” He snakes his legs around Stiles, pulls him in. He could not possibly be less subtle.

“I don't doubt it. But still, maybe we can work something out.” Stiles twists his fingertips up against Derek's prostate; the distraction allows him to slide down until his shoulders are pushing Derek's thighs apart and his nose is tracing Derek's hip. “I just this second remembered your dick was most recently up my ass. Shoulda made you shower with me. Oh well.” He slips lower, nuzzles the base of Derek's erection and laps at the thin seam of skin running up the center of Derek's sac. Derek clenches so hard around his fingers his knuckles grind together uncomfortably. He's pretty sure he doesn't have circulation in his ring finger anymore. It's fantastic.

He licks Derek's balls until they stop tasting like this afternoon's sex and start tasting like clean, salty skin, sucks them delicately into his mouth, one by one, as Derek howls above him. Somehow, he gasps out, “Do you need another one?”

“Nnno. Your—I'm ready for—fuck me, Stiles, please.” Derek sounds genuinely pained and Stiles is quick to comfort him, shushing and petting with his free hand as he pulls out and slicks his dick, lines up.

Just the kiss against the shiny-wet rim has his heart pounding. “Will you touch yourself? For me.” Stiles thanks his lucky stars this is happening while his body is wrung out from the afternoon and pushes forward, groaning low in his throat when Derek's hole pulls him in like a grasping little mouth. Derek's always been fucking gorgeous, but like this, stroking himself and still half-mad with need, squirming on Stiles' dick for more, like this he's more beautiful than anything Stiles has ever seen with his own eyes. He grinds his hips against Derek's when he bottoms out, does it again when Derek gasps and winds his fingers into the sheets.

“Stiles, c'mon. Move.”

Stiles elects not to tell Derek he can't move back enough to get a decent thrust with Derek's legs twisted around his waist like that, just pulls them up over his shoulders and rolls his hips back as Derek whimpers under him. He doesn't hold anything back when he slams forward for the first time; their skin smacks together loudly. He feels his eyes roll back into his head and stops trying to operate by anything other than instinct, burying his face in Derek's throat and humping wildly between his thighs.

Even with the boost his stamina is surely enjoying from their earlier sexcapades, Stiles is more than a little insecure about being a seventeen-year-old virgin and coming too fast, so he sits up until he's on his knees, pulls Derek up so the wolf is splayed across his thighs. “Don't stop touching yourself, big guy. Wanna watch you. Show me how you like it, teach me to take care of you.”

Stiles hadn't really thought of that as dirty talk, but it seems to be doing it for Derek, if the ragged gasp he lets out and the way he hops to are any indication. “Stiles—that's, yeah, fuck, there, _fuck_ me, you're, oh god, c'mon c'mon c'monnn, harder, you can, you're not gonna break me.”

“I know I can't break you. Don't wanna hurt you either,” Stiles pants out in rhythm to his thrusts.

“S'okay, I... like it... rough... sometimes.” Derek is having noticeable trouble forming sentences. Stiles absolutely does not preen.

Except for the part where he totally does. It's justifiable pride, okay? He's a natural!

“Stiles, close, want you, want you to come, wanna feel you fill me up before I...” and that does it, yep, Stiles would bet good money that even very experienced non-virgins would be hard-pressed to resist the sight and sound of Derek “Those Pecs Though” Hale writhing, moaning about how good everything feels, how much he loves Stiles, quite literally _begging_ him to come.

He comes.

The first spurt feels like his soul is being ripped up from his balls and out through his dick. And then Derek is coming too, squeezing unreasonably tighter, again and again, and he hadn't imagined that anything could feel better than fucking a not-yet-orgasmic Derek, but this... it's so good he can barely process it, almost can't feel it at all. Except for the part where the pleasure is consuming his whole being, his whole world, hot lines of sensation burning down his nerves until his skin sparks wherever he's touching Derek.

He collapses forward as the last of his own orgasm shreds through him, barely sparing a grunt when Derek's fist squelches into his stomach.

“Nnngggf,” he moans. Let no one say he's not a romantic. It's a waste, really, that he wasn't born in the days of court poets. “Shoulda been a court poet,” he adds out loud, for Derek's benefit.

And while Derek mocks him in response (“You're the only person in history who's ever fucked _themselves_ stupid, Stiles”), he takes at least five minutes to get the whole sentence out, so Stiles is gonna go ahead and count that as a win.


End file.
